Silent Screamer
by mickeiblue
Summary: one shot. au future fic, brooke centric, slight bl references. There are some things a mother wants to know, some things she needs to know even if she'll wish she never had to. warning, not a happily ever after story. rated m for safety.


first off before anyone who is reading any of my other fics is getting peeved about my sudden slow updates, apologizes, life has become more hectic of late therefore i don't have the spare time to write as much as i use to. this week alone ive had one of my oldest friends have a baby, congrads to cass who gave birth to little elizabeth joy on thursday, toooo cute, and my 'karen' if you know what i mean, has had a suspected heart attack and is currently in hospital, im sick with a sucky flu so i dont even get to hold my newly born honorary niece, my other other honorary niece has been sick too, cass' sis who i work with had 2 days off caus of the baby and all and so i had extra work time, theres been two parties, one hangover, one twisted ankle (not while i was as i was walking across the road wearing my socks, melscreamed out my name as if like i had stepped on dog shit or a spider had jumped on me and i really hate spiders, i looked behind me, my crapy ankle rolled, i fel to the ground and twisted my ankle, all because i was wearing only my socks and theground was fn wet, get over it mel!!! i dont give a f, i care more about the fact now my foot is so sore than that my socks are wet, seriously, since when did i bother to put on my shoes to walk five metres) a surprise visit from my big sister, thanks jondy for the great bday presents even if they were a month late, anothr catch up with my fave cousin jess, so yeah life is getting busy, though im sure that sounds completely uneventful to some people. but i did manage to put off a few hours today and finished brooke's child, i sent it off to my beta so they should be up soon, i am trying to work on the others, though must admit my mind is straying to something else im working on, in my head anyway.

so why am i posting a completely irrelevent piece that was simply a ten minute pop out while i was on the computer doing other stuff, likE checking my emails and chatting on fanpop. NOTE TO BRUCASERS: JOIN FANPOP AND SUPPORT YOUR COUPLE!!! well sometimes i just write boring old stuff and seeing i felt like i needed to post something ANYTHING i thought i would post this seeing everything else is on my laptop and this is just sitting here. so please read silent screamer and review if ya feel like it.

luv mickei

Disclaimer: I own nothing

One Tree Hill

**Silent Screamer **

_Every day that I come home_

_To an empty room_

_All alone_

_It's cold_

_It's dark_

_And __I'm afraid_

_And when I shout nobody hears me_

_Because nobody's about_

_So I scream as loud as I can_

_So I bleed_

_Bleed out the guilt_

_The shame_

_The pain_

_So I may scream all over again_

It has been ten years, ten long years, and with each day it gets that much harder and that much easier.

At first I didn't understand, I couldn't comprehend what had happened and then I wanted to know why. It was this ache inside me, this drive for knowledge. I still don't know if we all would have been better off never knowing the truth. Never knowing the secrets that had been kept for so long, a part of me only hurts more now because its simply too late. Too late to save her, too late to protect her, too late to do anything at all, though at the same time I wonder of the ache that would have been in its place if I had never known why. I guess that the ache was always going to be there, after all how could _this _not hurt. No matter the circumstances, no matter the reason why.

Still I should have known, I should have been able to tell yet I hadn't, I missed the signs and I let this happen. They say it's not my fault. There is little comfort in that, not my fault physically, no, its not. Not my fault that any of it happened, I couldn't have known, nobody knew. That's what they say.

My heart knows different though. If only I had known, I should have known in my heart, I should have simply felt it. I should have stopped it.

It hurts so much.

Even after ten years and I don't suppose that would change even after one hundred years.

I lost a child. There is no recovering from that pain, I know.

Five sons, five beautiful and talented boys, I adored them from their first breaths and fell in love with these little beings that were half me and half Lucas. Fell in love with the promise of the future. Five boys; some blonde, some brunette, some blue eyed, some hazel, some tall, some short, there are the dimpled smiles and then the broody ones, each one a part of both of us. I loved them, I love them still, yet a part of me longed for a daughter. A little girl, my baby girl, it was a dream.

One that eventually came true, after five boys I finally held that baby girl in my arms and I looked into those dark orbs as Kelly Rose Scott saw the world for the very first time, and I watched her wrap her tiny palm around Lucas' finger and in that moment we were both lost.

To say she was perfect may be bias; it may be an exaggeration, though our Kelly was perfect in many ways. She was the perfect combination of the two of us, in looks and personality, in everything about her, half Lucas and half Brooke.

After years of dreaming about the daughter I longed for, the little girl who would go shopping with me, who would play with her dolls and dance and be my little girl, we would side against the boys, it would be us against them, she was finally here. Well, things were not like that. Kelly was my little girl, she always will be, I guess it was bound to happen though being the youngest raised with five brothers and Lucas as her father. Yes, all those dreams of a girl and I finally got one who became a tomboy.

Kelly wear a dress? Don't make me laugh, the moment she learnt to dress herself properly dresses were out of the wardrobe and so was the colour pink. Blue was her favourite colour, blue like the sky or like the ocean, blue like Lucas' eyes or the gleam of sapphires, any blue was her blue.

That long precious hair that she hated being cut was hidden under a cap, that was Kelly for you though, such a walking contradiction. Gawd forbid we cut her hair yet she would just hide it away under her Ravens cap. And then there was her dollhouse, she would spend hours cleaning it and setting up the rooms, dressing the dolls and naming them, creating beautiful lives for those lifeless beings. She loved that dollhouse; it stood proudly in her room for sixteen years and changed with her. Small wooden furniture was slowly replaced with books and DVDs, paperwork and photo frames, a basketball in one shelf and rollerblades in another. That was her soft spot, that dollhouse, that feminine part of her that was always there, I think it was stemmed from her love of stories. Hours spent cleaning that dollhouse and creating lives for dolls, hours of the planning and then she would sit back and watch her little cousin play with them. I use to shake my head at her, Lucas would smile though, he would always smile at her in that indulgent way like she could do no wrong, like everything that little girl did was amazing.

I guess I overreact when I say that was Kelly's only real girly attribute. She might have dressed like a boy, spoke like a boy, played with the boys and played like a boy, but she was still a girl, motherly, yes that's how I would describe Kelly, motherly. She always loved kids, even when she was one herself. Oh yes, still a girl, still that little girl I dreamed off. She might have never particularly liked shopping, except when she got older and practically moved into the bookshop, yet most of my memories of her as a child was us together at the mall, either just the two of us or meeting Peyton and Haley for lunch with their girls. And then there was the dancing…

Kelly always loved a story, in every form, one that was inside her head played out with dolls, a story told by another, a story written or read, movies and TV shows, plays and then music. Music was a story that Kelly could get lost in, the beat and lyrics, the moves she learnt so easily. I still have that photo of her wearing her first leotard, a big grin on her face as her fair blonde hair whipped around her in the wind, hair that would get darker and darker as she grew older until it was as dark as my own. To watch Kelly dance stirred my heart, it's when I could watch her and really see a little girl and not just my little girl.

She couldn't sit still; it just wasn't possible for Kelly. I know some may say that's not true for she could be so still and quiet sometimes, I know my daughter though and stillness was not something that Kelly knew. She just had to move, had to, she might have been sitting still but if you had studied her something would be moving. Her fingers were the most likely give away, sometimes I would watch her walking so silently and her fingers would dance through the air as if playing an invisible harp, hearing a song no one else could hear, or tracing a surface while drawing a picture no one else could see. And if it wasn't her fingers it was the tapping of her feet or the darting of her eyes.

Those dancing fingers. I can still close my eyes and see her so vividly as an eight year old with light brown piggy tails that still held traces of honey blonde, a backwards cap, baggy jeans and dirty joggers, a hand me down shirt of Jamie's that was her favourite, there she is walking along the curb, one foot carefully after the other as she balanced, her right hand level with her hip as her fingers danced with the sun, and if I listen close enough I can still hear her hum.

Music was something Kelly loved, she could loose herself in the sounds and the dance, too bad she couldn't play an instrument or sing if her life depended on it. She was truly terrible, completely tone deaf. Though she loved to listen to it, the beat was in her blood, that's what it seemed like.

You wouldn't guess then that this little girl who would lie on the ground and feel the music vibrate under her, the little girl who got lost in sound, use to not hear anything at all.

I will never forget the doctor telling us that Kelly was deaf, and there I was thinking she was just stubborn. She wasn't born that way, somewhere between hearing test it had just happened. Kelly didn't even remember being deaf, she was so little and the operation made her as good as new, it gave her the music back. It was her speech that got to Kelly, that frustrated her, the hearing problem had affected her during a critical stage for language development. Her sounds were all mumbled up and she would trip and stumble over words, for her she sounded normal, Kelly she knew exactly what she was saying. Others though had a hard time understanding her, so she would often get frustrated as a child when others couldn't understand her. This created a shyness, a hesitance with strangers and life yet once you got under that shell it was hard to shut her up or hold her back. Some would describe Kelly as shy, as quiet, as reserved, while some would say the exact opposite. A walking contradiction, that is what I said remember.

It was a road block for Kelly, one she overcame with stubbornness, you wouldn't guess as she got older that people had once mistaken her for a foreigner with her language and accent, not as she got older and read book after book learning word after word, not after her speech cleared and her vocabulary could challenge her father and leave me completely stumped. Yet at the same time she spoke that slang, that tomboyish slang that was always with her 'I don't got', Kell you could never say 'I don't have' could you. What is it she use to always say to me, oh yeah "do you want me to dumb it down or smart it up? Make up your mind"

The truth is I wouldn't change anything about Kelly that made her _Kelly_.

Except the things that happened, except when she started to change, and I had put it down to her just growing up. Children move away from you though, right? They stop being your little girl, they stop being your friend, they become teenagers, they push you away, they grow up and simply change. Right?

We use to be so close and it hurt me when she started pushing me away, when she stopped talking to me, stopped touching me, stopped wanting to be with me, or any of the family. She was ten, she was just a little girl and I had been slightly happy that Kelly was finally leaving the boys further behind her, hanging out with the girls more, wearing girlier clothes and experimenting with makeup. It all happened so slowly, so gradually I didn't notice, or maybe I did, I don't know. I thought it was normal.

Then again there was a lot that I didn't see at all.

She was such a sweet kid, so happy and lively with a sparkle in her eye and when she started pushing us away I wasn't close enough to notice she had lost her sparkle, one day it was just gone, just not there and I could never pin point when exactly it went away.

She was ten. That's how old she was the first time she hit out at someone, when she first had one of her snaps, that was how old she was when the migraines started, when her nights got later and later.

I think back and I think of all the signs I missed back then.

Kelly had been ten that day she had randomly stopped breathing out on the basketball court, one moment she had been standing there, the next she couldn't breathe, she had been crying, she'd just broken down. She never told me why.

She was ten when she started closing herself in her room, ten when she started turning the music up and telling us to go away, ten when her report card had mentioned for the first time something negative about her personality.

… _though Kelly seems angry sometimes for no reason_.

Angry, yes now I wonder how I could not see that.

Sometimes I think there were three Kelly's.

There was this Kelly as a child, that Kelly who had her sparkle in her eye, and then there was that dramatic Kelly the one who seemed so girly and then she had just shut down. Kelly closed herself off. I don't think any of us knew the real Kelly after that, I think now looking back we all got a different mask, she was too busy keeping the secrets, protecting herself perhaps that she just hid behind masks

Gone were the tank tops and make up, around the same time it seemed all her male friends disappeared too, I never noticed that. I use to shake my head at Kelly a lot; I use to shake my head when she would cover herself up even on the hottest days.

I never really thought that Kelly wasn't happy. She had this amazing ability to make people laugh during the most serious times, one sarcastic sentence, one smart ass comment, one perfectly timed saying, she was funny and smart and sweet and loud. Sure she was also serious, wise, silly, bitchy, cruel at times, and eerily quiet. It's hard to describe Kelly that is why I usually use that term for her _walking contradiction._

I never really thought that Kelly wasn't happy, not until the day I opened her bedroom door and a part of me died.

A part of me died with her.

Kelly's favourite colour was blue; mine had always been red until that day. The day I walked into my daughters room to find her white sheets soaked red, her pale skin soaked red, everything so red that at first I couldn't understand. Why so red? Why so damn fucking red?

I now prefer blue over red any day.

That colour use to symbolize life and love, it use to stand for everything I was, and now all it stands for is the colour of my daughters blood, too much blood, the colour of life gone.

So quickly it can end, so quickly and so devastatingly.

_Death is a state of mind._

Kelly had been ten when a lot of things first happened to her, and she had been ten when she was raped.

Maybe life was so perfect we all didn't want to shake it, maybe we simply didn't know the signs, simply couldn't even imagine that this all could have happened.

I don't know if I want an excuse or I don't want one because nothing can change the fact that some sick bastard raped my baby girl and took her innocence, her trust in others and herself. Some sick bastard took Kelly Rose's childhood from her; they stole her sparkle and left an empty shell that slowly died inside until finally she decided it was time to kill the body as well.

Lucas and I had not understood it; we hadn't known why our beautiful and talented daughter would take her own life. Depression, no Kelly hadn't been depressed, surely not, she was smiling and happy. She had mood swings and she was a teenager, but depression? Not something I thought was connected to Kelly, not until I saw her lifeless body in front of me covered in scars that were carefully placed so nobody would ever know, not until it really hit that she had committed suicide, not until in my desperate search for answers I discovered a diary in her dollhouse.

Then I learnt what desperation really was.

Kelly's words found after her death was the closest I had been with my daughter since she was ten years old. It hadn't been easy to read her inner most secret thoughts, and not just because they were laced with so much pain, and other times such a lack of emotion, that had been hard, definitely harder than decoding the perfectly written mirror image handwriting.

I had always noticed Kelly writing, I wonder if anyone ever connected that whenever Kelly wrote backwards she was writing from the part of herself that was afraid to speak or show emotions in other forms. Maybe I should have taken more notice of what she was writing.

Not the stories, not the happily ever after stories that I later learnt she never believed would belong to her, just those backwards notes through out the years that made up a nightmare. Like fingers dancing in the sun.

Not that it matters now, it's too late to notice. It's too late to do anything but mourn the bad and remember the good.

But the thing is it does matter.

_Put on the__ mask _

_Wear__ the lie_

_A happy smile_

_While inside I die_

It's been ten years, ten long years since the day I walked into that room or buried her and now I sit by her grave. She would have been twenty six, maybe married, maybe with the children she always wanted. Maybe if she could have survived she would have made it to twenty six and gotten to live one of her happy stories.

I bring roses to her grave, not red ones, no not red ones anymore, not that colour, any other colour I bring and place on the soft grass.

"Hi baby girl"

It's hard, so hard.

There's the anger, the fierce anger at her for doing this. Maybe she didn't realize that when she got rid of her own pain she sent it to all of us, maybe she didn't realize that when she died she took a part of us with her. Kelly was a smart girl, wise beyond her years sometimes. I think she knew exactly what she was doing.

"I have some news"

I think that's why she lasted as long as she did, for us, six years she lived for us until she could take it no more and the pain, the desperation, the emptiness got too much for her.

"I know you would want to know"

Kelly had always been a good listener, I still tell her everything. I use to think she was a good talker too, until that is I found out all the things she never said. Maybe Kelly was just a good liar.

I feel Lucas touch my shoulder, he's behind me and by my side. Lucas Scott, the one who saves people. He once said I was the one person he could never save. Not because he didn't want to, not because I never wished to be saved or never needed saving. Timing, emotions, life got in the way. Lucas Scott never carried me out of a building after I was shot, and he never dragged me out of a fire or pulled me from a car wreck. If Lucas thinks he never saved me though he's wrong, I don't say it but he did save me, when we were sixteen he saved me from myself.

No the one person Lucas Scott could never save was our daughter.

Nobody saved her when she was ten and after that it was too late, she was already lost and at only sixteen she left this world. That's the same age I was when I just began to live.

I now struggle to breathe, sometimes it all just floods back and I'm back in those early days. I'm walking through that door and my heart stops.

I'm back at the hospital, I'm in the morgue, I'm burying my daughter, I'm crying by her grave, crying in my room, I'm yelling and screaming and hitting.

And Lucas is beside me the whole time.

He was so silent, so still, not cold though, just that silent broody anger. For a long time no one thought we would survive it, not just alone but together. Statistically speaking marriages get shorter after the loss of a child.

It could have ended when I blamed him for being too busy saving other people that he let his own daughter become the victim.

It could have ended after all the fights, after all the silences, yet somehow we managed to survive and it still shocks me.

I think we had no other option though; we _wouldn't _have survived it if we didn't do it together.

"Jason and Tara had a baby girl" _they're happy_

It hurts. It always will yet it gets easier, it gets easier because Kelly finally got what she had craved for so long, she got to close her eyes and finally rest, she got the peace that was unattainable here.

Lucas sits next to me and takes over "they named her Amanda Rose Scott. She has your mother's dimples and the brightest blue eyes. They have this sparkle in them. Rosie, we were wondering if maybe you could keep an eye out for her, she's your only niece after all…"

Twelve grandsons and finally a granddaughter, it's a thrilling and sad event all rolled into one. Amanda looks nothing like Kelly, but there's this crazy feeling I get when I look at the new baby and I remember the first time I held Amanda in my arms, she lifted her tiny hand in the air and her fingers started moving as we stood by the window.

Those dancing fingers.

I had closed my eyes and that mental picture of Kelly was there as vivid as ever. That's how I always see her. As an eight year old tomboy with light brown piggy tails that still held traces of honey blonde, wearing a backwards cap, baggy jeans and dirty joggers, and a hand me down shirt of Jamie's that was her favourite. With the sparkle still in her eye and a genuine wide smile stealing her face, there she is walking along the curb, one foot carefully after the other as she balances, with her right hand level with her hip as her fingers dance with the sun.

And if I listen close enough I can still hear her hum.

_just in case you' ewondering about those slightly depressing lines in italics that appear three times within this one shot, they are meant to be musings from kelly's diary._

_thanks for getting this far_


End file.
